


❊ More Than Just A Car ❊

by Mythstaken



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-23 02:47:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23437819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythstaken/pseuds/Mythstaken
Summary: A close lense at Buffy and Dean's relationship as told through the importance of Baby. (For @SaltBurned.)
Relationships: Buffy Summers & Dean Winchester, Buffy Summers/Dean Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	❊ More Than Just A Car ❊

" Cars and Buffy are like un-mixy things."

Some things never changed and the relationship status Buffy had with cars was always Facebook complicated. She never really understood the fascination that some boys seemed to have with cars. Whenever Giles and Xander would talk cars, they would often get this look on their face and their eyes would glaze over. It was almost as if they were discussing if a choker would make or break an outfit, they seemed that into it. Most times, she wondered if she should offer them a bib for all that drool. She never understood it. A car was... a car. It drove. There was nothing really special about any car, they all had one job.

Then came Baby — (A black, 1967 Chevrolet Impala — the only reason Buffy knew that was because she had heard it repeated at least a trillion times.) Yes. Baby. That was what Dean called... her. Yes, [her.] The first night he had introduced Buffy to _her_ was when he was going to drop her back home after they had met... again. “There she is” he had said, in a voice that belonged to a proud parent whose kid had just gotten into some pristine ivy league. Buffy didn't know what she had expected from the way he was speaking, but it definitely hadn’t been an inanimate object. Then she had seen how Giles and Xander (and Oz, that traitor) had gotten all oogley-eyed when they first saw Dean’s car, and even Giles’ composed crumpety self hadn’t been able to help himself when admiring the car. It was a freaking car, not a special edition LV dress. Boys. She had to chalk it all to it being a boy thing, because trying to understand it would give her an aneurysm.

_It was just a car._

A car, that sometimes, she found herself being... jealous of. No, that wasn’t the right word. She wasn’t really sure how to put it. It was a joke between them, that she was the third wheel in Dean and Baby’s relationship, and sometimes Buffy joked about leaving them alone so they could have some privacy, calling Baby his other girlfriend a lot of the time. It was that softened look in his eye, that passion and pride that was reflected into his voice. That car wasn’t just a car to him. It was so much more, held more sentimental value than one could even put together in a single conversation.

It was home. One Buffy had come to know.

_It wasn’t just a car._

There was something about the way Dean drove _her_. It was the way he handled _her_ with such care. She was his. It was the way Dean looked when he drove her — free. Buffy had seen him, in times that weren’t the best, times when she could tell that everything he was shouldering was beginning to take a hit on his already wavering foundation. Or when he had convinced himself that he was poison, and that everything that surrounded him was dark and he didn’t want to allow himself any semblance of happiness because the hits kept coming.

When she had seen him when he sat in the driver’s seat, with nothing but the open road and the sound of his voice trying to outdo whatever old timey song he was forcing her to listen to. It never mattered that she pretended to roll her eyes at him when he was being the biggest child even though she was trying her damndest not to smile, or that the boy was tone deaf, while he tried to do vocals, bass and drums as a one man show because she had never seen him look happier and at ease than when he was behind the wheel, and [that] was what made Buffy happy. There never had to be music. Sometimes, it was a more mellow ride to whichever case they were hunting down next. There would be nothing but the soft sound of rain hitting the car and Dean concentrating on the road, with one of his hands on her thigh because she had selfishly brought it there. Those were the times Buffy pretended to sleep, only she would be sneaking glances of him to save in her memory for another day because it was while he was in the safety of this car, that the demons were asleep, forgotten about, even if just for the moment. It was then Buffy saw pieces of the boy that he might have been before he had learned that monsters were real. God, she loved watching him drive.

_It wasn’t just a car._

It was the place where he had first told her what he was — a hunter, after re-meeting years later, and she had realized that there was more to him than an arrogant glib. It was the place he had made her see that him and her weren’t all that different. Two people thrown into the same fight under different circumstances, because destiny was a not-so-funny thing.

It was the place that was first to bear witness to just how needy two stubborn people could be when they had staved and repressed feelings off for so long, where lips had bruised between kisses, spilling devoted truths and through skin that been clawed at, needing desperately to be mapped by hands that had been anticipating for so long to memorize every freckle and scar. To learn what had been theirs for a long time.

It was the place that had become a haven. For times where there was no other option but to get well acquainted with the backseat (or to give Sam even more nightmares — it was that or “no man’s land.”) It was the place where masks were put aside, where vulnerabilities were whispered and possibilities were considered. It was in the impala, where they dared to even consider.... to even imagine. Dean and her were always good with not keeping secrets from each other, and even when they tried, it never worked out. They had learned better. The same went for putting up any sort of front, because they saw right past it and it was something they never had to question. In a world where they often had to play the leader, where they were looked to for answers and expected to always know what they were doing, making the tough calls, in a world of constant doing... in here, it was where they could put that weight down and just be. No questions. No expectations. Just tangled heaps, lazy fingers, tracing mouths and whispered reassurances. Sometimes it was just a recline back, feet in his lap, and some In-N-Out in our laps while talking about anything and everything because they never had seven different people interrupting them. It was a place she never had to worry about being disrupted by her Watcher or kid sister or some stupid vampire who wanted to third wheel. It was Dean, some good ol’ cheesy fries, Baby and Buffy.

_It wasn’t just a car._

Dean loved _her_ like it... she, was his child and his affection was shown through keeping her maintained and up to date. Buffy could only guess how many times she had crashed and burned and had been built from the ground up. Buffy complained about him spending time working on her, but truthfully speaking, she loved watching him get greased up and those muscles muscling and he knew it, too. He got his hands dirty because he loved her and that was how he showed it. Dean wasn’t what one would call... vocal, when it came to declarations of feelings, but instead, it was something said with gestures and smiles, the kind that made her melt all the way down to her toes. It was in the way he had one day silently handed her the keys while she had been perched on the hood, legs swinging and she had looked at him, waiting for him to tell her it was a joke.

It hadn’t been.

Eyes had been bambi wide, grin even more so and her little happy dance had been followed by his gruff “I swear, if you hurt her...” non-threatening threat. It was in the way she had seen him grip his seat, curse under his breath and probably pray to Castiel that Buffy wouldn’t chip the paint off of his girl — or even worse. Even though he had looked like he was being held against his will and it was paining him to let her drive, he never complained once. It had been a good fifteen minutes and Buffy knew it had been one of his ways to tell her that he loved her too.

_It wasn’t just a car._

Not with what it had come to mean to her. Buffy knew Dean was smug, knowing he had a hand in getting both his girls to get along. Even getting her to admit it was a victory no one else had to their name. Cars were.... cars. But this one? Whenever she saw it pull out of her driveway, when she saw the sleek, black paint and taillights turn into nothing, it was when her heart sank into her stomach because that car carried something very important to her. Dean. With it, was always the looming weight of “what if’s” she never wanted answered.

_It wasn’t just a car._

Not when she saw the beaming headlights reflect into her driveway and through her living room window, and have her heart do that Olympic winning flip it always seemed to do as she rushed towards the door, trying not to break it off from the excitement that never failed to present itself. Not when she heard the soft purr of the engine as the car rolled to a stop, and in that moment, it always became the best sound she had ever heard. Not when she knew what it meant when this car was parked in her driveway. He was safe. He was here. Because she knew what _she_ carried inside and to Buffy, it was invaluable. He was.

_It wasn’t just a car._

S(he) was home.


End file.
